


Little Birdie smiles

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Godswood in King's Landing isn't just for praying...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maroucia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/gifts).



> Written for the SanSan-Fest
> 
> This short story is dedicated to Maroucia, due to her inspiring prompt:"This has been done before, and well done indeed, but I need it again… Sansa catching Sandor masturbating and watching him secretly… And then she would hear him murmur her name… aaah! Please, someone!!! I would prefer if this would all happen in a Red Keep ACOK or ASOS environment ( and Sansa being all naïve and shocked about this) but I’m open to read anything involving this prompt, really."
> 
> Please note that the text is unbeta'd and that I'm not a native speaker.

It was pouring from the heavens. You wouldn't even chase a dog out the front door. In the Red Keep people were keeping to themselves, the women stitching, the men gambling, the musicians playing the harp or the lute and singing.Sansa, however, was so depressed that she needed to go to the Godswood. People knew that she went there regularly, but never had she been out there under such bad weather conditions. 

Thus, Ser Balon Swann, who was on duty to guard her, was little and less amused when she uttered her wish. Sansa knew that his next blow would be a compensation, but for now, he had to oblige.

They went to the encircling wall of the Goodswood, and the girl chirped: “I can find my way alone there, Ser Balon, you can wait under the shelter of this big tree, if you like.”

The knight acquiesced at once.

So Sansa opened the gate and walked towards her favourite place. The plashing of the rain swallowed her light steps.

To her utmost surprise she saw a huge, looming figure under her favourite tree. A man. He was showing her his broad back, facing the trunk, standing there with his legs slightly apart and his dark, lank hair dripping. It was the Hound! He was wearing a dark cloak as well, so Sansa couldn't see much, but something about his posture was odd. His head was inclined, as if he was looking down, and there were some jerking movements with his hand in front of his tummy.

Sansa was confused, even more so, because he seemed to be completely immersed into what he was doing so that he didn't notice her. She glided behind a thick bush and crept closer.  
Suddenly, the Hound gave off a mixture of a dark growl and a moan.

Sansa flinched.

“Is he in pain?” she thought and just wanted to speak up...

… but then she heard a dark, rasping: “Oh yes! Oh please! I'll put it into you! I'll make you enjoy it... ah! Oh yes, you feel so good!”

Sansa was completely dumbfounded. Her heart was racing, and she was feeling a strange tug in her lady parts, which made her blush.

“Is he talking to himself? There is nobody else there! Does he know I'm here? Gods, what's going on with him!?”

The next moment, Sandor Clegane leaned forwards and against the tree with one of his giant, calloused hands. The other hand kept moving in a steady rhythm. Since he had also turned a little the new angle suddenly allowed Sansa to see properly. She had to stifle a gasp, and her heart started to hammer away. Oh holy Seven!!!

The Hound's laces were open and his... OH GODS... his manhood... was jutting out! It was erect like a wedge, dark red, glistening wet in the rain, and at the base there was dark, coarse hair. A white drop was oozing out of an opening at the tip, where it mingled with the tears from the heavens. And his hand... he was encircling himself there and rubbing up and down!!

But... his face was probably even more outrageous. Sandor Clegane had closed his eyes, and his mouth was twitching. He looked very concentrated, even tense... and at the same time strangely joyful. Where there had only ever been rage, the huge man suddenly showed an air of vulnerability.

Sansa couldn't believe what she was beholding, and her cheeks had flushed a deep, rich crimson, not only on her cheeks, but also on her neck. She thought she should be scandalized, her septa would berate her, and her fiancé would have her head – their heads! – if he knew... but Sansa was only upset. DEEPLY upset. Aroused. Touched.

The Hound's movements were growing as erratic as her breathing.

Then, he threw his head back and moaned again. His... manhood started to twitch, and white fluid was bursting from the tip. “Oh! Oh Little Bird!” It was almost a sob.

Sansa's mouth hang open in utter shock. He knew she was there! Didn't he call her his Little Bird? Didn't he!?!? But what, oh what was going on with him?? Her mother and her septa had never said anything about such things! Nobody had! The girl was simply paralyzed.

In the meantime, the Hound had relaxed. The... manhood was softening.

He cupped his balls and growled, suddenly his normal, angry self again: “Right. Let's put you back into your nest. What a bloody pity I'll never put you into the Little Bird's nest. Would be fucking cosy and warm there, I'm sure.”

Sandor Clegane stuffed his private parts into his breeches, laced them up, turned around... and walked away!

Sansa couldn't believe it. Why had he talked to her then? After a moment, it dawned on her: the fearsome Hound, Sandor Clegane, had fantasized about her! Oh holy Seven! Some seconds later, another thought struck her: when he left, he'd meet Ser Balon Swann and surely ask him why he was waiting there. And then, he might suspect...

“GODS! He mustn't find me here! I'd die from shame!”

Like a bolt of lightening, she darted to a little pond in a different part of the Godswood and hid her face deeply in the cape she was wearing. Then, she fell to her knees and started to sing a northern song to herself with a slightly shaky voice. Just in time!

Three minutes later, she heard the heavy strides of four booted feet.

“Lady Sansa?” It was Ser Balon Swann.

“Here!” she chirped.

The knight arrived with the Hound in tow.

“Lady Sansa, you've stayed long enough in the rain. You'll catch a pneumonia, if you don't go in again. – See, Clegane, she's sound and safe. I'll take her back to her room.”

Sansa kept her eyes cast down and murmured: “Thank you for your sympathy, sers. Of course, I'll go back, I don't want to cause any worry.”

Ser Balon snorted about her empty courtesies.

And Sandor Clegane snarled: “I'm no ser!”


	2. Chapter 2

– One day later –

 

“Lady Sansa?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

Joffrey was in one of his foul moods, and Sansa could barely manage to eat her supper. Ser Meryn was standing guard behind the king, and even though she expected to be beaten, the sight of the awful knight didn't bother her as much as usual. Sansa was relieved that she had another day before she'd be confronted with the Hound again.

“Lady Sansa, do you know what I'll do when we're married?”

A cruel smirk.

“No, Your Grace.”

“I'll put my cock into your cunt and make you moan. And you can even choose, if it'll be from pain or pleasure.”

Normally, Sansa would have paled and stiffened, but now, she couldn't help herself; she saw a wet, glistening, big manhood, flushed red, in front of her, and she heard a dark, rasping echo: “I'll put it into you! I'll make you enjoy it... ah!”

She blushed and smiled.

Suddenly, the King grabbed her chin and made her look up. Joffrey's eyes reflected baffled puzzlement.

“Why are you grinning like that?”

The redness on Sansa's cheeks intensified, and she whispered shyly: “I... I was imagining... Your Grace...”

There was a moment's suspicion in Joff's eyes, but Sansa was the worst liar in the capital, and it was obvious that she was speaking the truth. In a mollified, somewhat flattered, but still confused way the King cleared his throat and said: “Ah. Yes. Fine. Now. Erm... there is one last lemon cake. Take it!”

Slowly, Sansa grabbed the sweet treat.

“Thank you so much, Your Grace.”

The girl took a first bite. The lemon cake was fresh from the oven.

Another echo: “Would be fucking cosy and warm there, I'm sure.” If that white moisture had been warm as well?

Without realizing it, her pink little tongue darted dreamily into her dessert and sucked the bittersweet filling out of the cake.

Joffrey suddenly swallowed hard and fumbled to open his elaborate collar a little. Then, he pushed his chair back and pouted: “It's getting late. I'll retire. Tell the cook I want to have those cakes again tomorrow. Trant, by the way, who's on duty tomorrow?”

“The Hound, Your Grace.”

One last, unbidden dark echo: “Oh yes, you feel so good!”

A small, genuine smile crept onto her lips. It had been so long that she had smiled like that. She couldn't even remember when it had been.

Joffrey coughed: “Good night, Lady Sansa.”

“Good night, Your Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters in this story are all GRRM’s propriety and phantastic creation, and I won’t make any money from this.


End file.
